Ilharn Passing
Beau has finally gotten a rumor of where his father is, and decides to set out to locate him. It's been four days since his mother, Malice, gave him the mission to fetch a certain blood red stone for one of her associates which his dad holds. The delay in seeing to that task for his mom has chaffed. He begins to prepare by strapping on his plate armor a piece at a time, which is not easy without a squire or someone to assist. He is still a squire himself so he has to make do without ready help. Ten minutes later after he is armored, he heads down to the market where his other equipment is, his horse and his lance. He places his saddle onto Mal'rak Isto (Forever Night in common) the charger his mom gave him, when Ramoth trots in from parts unknown. Beau did not keep Ramoth (Nightmare in common), the dark unicorn, in the stables. She was always free to do as she wished being more of a childhood friend than a steed. Beau brushes both equines down properly fussing over them for a time. It's an odd activity to see a drow perform, but it's Beau's way. Take care of what is yours and it will last. While Ramoth lets him ride her, he won't use a saddle or a harness with her. He doesn't need to and he would never insult her by even trying. Grabbing his lance then affixing the spider pennon atop it, he mounts Ramoth bare back and heads out to find his father, Baelwhelar. Ramoth takes him up out of the underdark, north west through Lundene and then across the bridge into Vana. She stops in Vana deciding to graze upon the lush vegetation there. Beau does not begrudge her that right. No one in any frame of mind argues with a black unicorn. One touch of their horn's power wielded in anger, and you are wiped out from creation. In all ways they are the opposite of white unicorns. After that respite in Vana the two travel across the bridge and on into Ilythiira, the spider banner of house Acanthus whipping around in the breeze on the to top of his lance. From afar there is nothing to distinguish him from any other knight, even if he is a drow. It is here in the land of Ilythiira that he should find his father, hunting surface dwellers. That is if the information Beau received turned out to be good. Whispering to Ramoth, she starts slowly moving around through this land in search. Hours pass in silence, the search unproductive, while the two ride together. South and east of the Dojo down below the cliffs, on a small peninsula jetting out into the Ulfenheim sea, they find a hunting camp site. Beau smirks when he recognizes the spartan shelter as one of drowish origins. Dismounting and setting his lance up against a tree he looks around in the snow. The footprints are the correct size, if he remembers correctly. He rekindles the smoldering fire, and starts to fix a meal of pan fried mushrooms and cave rat steaks, knowing that the smoke should attract the camper almost immediately. A camper that he guesses is likely his dad. A lone dragon flies overhead and off to the west decorating the flame adorned evening skies, as he cooks and waits. Soon enough a lone figure that had been in the trees watching Beau, comes out. Beua Rey stands bowing his head to the figure and says, “Vendui Ilharn, ol's tlus drasven.” (Hello Father, it's been years.) To say that Baelwhelar was angry would be a gross understatement. Livid might come closer to the mark. Seething could describe it somewhat too, but there was truly no word that fit his rage. For month upon months he had searched for his first son, lost at sea a decade ago. Sailing to and fro fruitlessly. He had given up Beau for dead over nine years past, and now here he was at his camp. He had failed two sons now. Beau who he thought was dead, and should have kept searching for, because here he was. Zandeln who fought against the god Marrok, and paid the ultimate penalty for that and truly died. He felt like an utter failure as a father, giving up on one, and letting the other be killed. And the first now returns and greets him like...like his absence was a trivial matter. It took a Baelwehar a full minute to compose himself, instead of first smashing his fist into his malcontent of a firstborn. Eyes red and bright, shoulders stiff and chin jutting out, Baelwhelar says in a rather dangerous tone to his son, “You little cretin, is that all you have to say to me after all these years?” Beau looks at his father. The years have not been kind to him. There was one time, when Beau would do his best to try and make his rather emotionless and placid father smile. Those were rare victories when he was a child. Seeing his dad now he could tell there was no smiling left in him. “What did you want me to say? Hey dad, sorry to cause you so much worry but I had been ship wrecked, then I hid while caring for my insane sister. I wrote a few times but messages going across the sea are chancy at best?” Beau doesn't hold back his one punch, verbal at least. “I vithin spent around a year on an atoll, barley a half days walk across, teaching myself how to build a boat out of palm tree's and husks. Sorry if I’m not feeling very charitable right now.” His dad looked as though he had just been hit across the face, and his anger that was never really under control all that well returns. Eyes flashing read he spits out, “Then why did you come here then? To berate your old man for things that were out of his control?” Never one to waste words Beau replies, “No father, mom sent me to find you. That oval stone you have, blood red in color, which belongs to someone you both know? Evidently they are friends, and mom wants me to retrieve it from you.” He glances over to his son .. unable to control emotions that had festered in him like a wound. "Your mother?!" he says with a scathing tone. As his mind ponders the boys words. "So you ran to your mothers skirts then?" His hand slipped to the pouch at his side. He had no desire to give up the gem. Yet his son had asked. One whom had survived not only being third born son, but being stuck on a isle and lost at sea. His blood would carry on ... one weight off his shoulders. "If i refuse"? he asks. Tilting head at his father Beau sighs, “We do it the hard way then.” He saw the pouch his dad had reached for, so knows where the stone is now. If he wins he can just take it. Without another word he launches an armored fist full into the face of his father. Swords be damned, if it was going to be a fight, he'd do it the way his dad taught him when he was young, with his fists. Wearing armor though meant they were almost as deadly as any heavy hammer or mace. His first punch, with the full weight of his shoulder and body behind it lands with a resounding crack on the side of his father skull. It held enough force to knock his father back reeling, stunned monumentally. It was a brutal sucker punch but drow, even drow knights, are not exactly fair fighters. Against his dad he needed every advantage he could get. They both knew each others styles far too well. Soon enough though his father snapped his crimson orbs back at his upstart of a son, and then launched his own counter assault. This is not the type of fighting seen outside of the under dark. It's not a type of fighting even seen in the under-dark all that often. His dad's birth house were masters of Veir Duucald, the drow equivalent of martial arts, and Beau and received full measure of that knowledge. Rapid punches with just as rapid blocks were thrown out, armor ringing like bells louder then any sword. Kicks traded back and forth, at one point Beau deftly grabs his fathers arm that was extended in a punch, and throws his dad over his body. Just as deftly his dad twists over his own back from the ground with a kick that knocks Beau down as well. The fight is a blur of fluidic motion, a sublime dance of deadly skill, never shown to outsiders. On and on it goes for three minutes before it would of become obvious to any observers, if there were any, that Beau was losing. Ten years away from constant training, having to care for his terminally crazy sister, in a far land where drow were more an oddity to be avoided, then something to be outright killed, Beau had let his skills wane some inadvertently. Not much but it was enough. Baelwhelar picked up on that, and spitting out “Sloppy, boy!” red eyes filled with rage, throws a spinning round house kick that connects to Beau's head with a resounding crack, twisting it around and throwing his son back into a tree crumpled into a heap. He moves slowly to his son wondering if he broke his neck and killed him. It would serve him right for allowing time away to let him get that soft. Beau wasn't dead, though his neck had been hyper extended almost to that point. Groaning he slowly picked himself up holding his hand out in a stop gesture, “Enough. Dad.” he says weak, also tired from the brutal fight. “I was told not to get myself killed over this. You win father.” Nor did Beau wait for an acknowledgment. He lost. If his dad was going to kill him, he likely would anyway. Stumbling over to his lance he fetches it, moves back to Ramoth, and slides onto her back. With a nod of respect to his still breathing heavy from the fight dad, he turns to ride off. He can tell his mom that the mission failed, but that he had followed her orders. The bruising even through the armor would be proof enough. Baelwhelar watch his son for a moment, then spat out in revile, "Run back to your mother /boy/ then. I will survive I always do." As he moves to make ready to leave himself he tosses the pouch to the ground. "Tell her she should have come her self for that, and not sent my untrained /whelp/." The pouch was opened and would remain so unless he closed himself. He was old tired and was not sure how much more he could take. Beau stops Ramoth in her tracks, not believing at first how much spite was in his fathers words. All this time was that what his father though about him? His own son? A coward? A Boy? A whelp? A rage started to build in the normally placid prince and he turned Ramoth slowly back around to face his father. Without a word he squeezes his legs into Ramoth's sides, and she bashes into a charge strait at Baelwheler, the sound of her hooves thundering in the air. A second into the run Beau starts lowering his lance aiming it at his father chest, as his father turns suddenly toward the noise. But it is far too late for Baelwhelar to react. He can only watch as time suddenly slows for him in a mix of astonishment, rage, and horror as the lance slide into his chest. He feels it pierce heart and then go on out through his back, just before darkness consumes him whole. Baelwhelar knew he was dieing. It was a dreadful blow his son had landed on him. Opening his eyes he say his son leaning over him, a tear on his boys face. No heart left he would be gone very soon, he had not even felt his son pull the lance out of him. It was that bad of a blow. Barely above a Whisper he says, “Boy...Son...” Beau just held his hand over the dreadful wound where there was once a heart. No potion or magic could ever fix that in time. “Dad...” he says choked up at his own actions, “I didn't mean...” Beau never finishes. At that exact moment a wolf howl splits the air apart, and a glowing apparition of a wolf, steps out of the umbra and marches right up to the two of them. Beau does not know who it is. Baelwhelar however could not fail to recognize the ghost of his other son, Zandeln. A rare slowly smile creeps across his face. For a drow, dieing in the presence of family was a rare honor, and now both his sons were here to see him on his way. One still alive and the other dead. As he soon will be. He says one last thing to his sons “Proud of you both...”. The last of the light of Baelwhelar's eyes slowly fades into silent oblivion, as he passes on in the presence of the two people, he could never admit in life that he loved. **** Sometime much later, Beau rides back into the underdark slowly and sadly, his father's body strapped behind him. He goes deep into the caverns, deeper then even where Acanthus and finds a nice hidden cave outlet off the beaten path. Here he lay's out his father, and laying his fathers swords next to his body, then starts erecting a cairn over him. Beau stays with his now buried father for some time, Zandeln's ghost also making another appearance. The two sit there in-front of the unmarked cairn, in silence, until Beau gets stands up and finally leaves heading back to home. The ghost of Zandeln fades shortly after.